


Angel, Interrupted.

by Recycled_SujuGirl (TremblingHandsWriting)



Category: Big Bang (Band), EXO (Band), Shinhwa, Super Junior
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, multifandom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TremblingHandsWriting/pseuds/Recycled_SujuGirl
Summary: Meet Lee Sungmin.Sungmin wants the world to end. At least a part of him does.They said God created humans, and Sungmin laughs.Why would God create something so ugly and malfunctioned, rendered doomed to destruction and fouls since the day they were born?Come on,God,surely You can do better thanthis.Sometimes he sees the light goes out of a person’s eyes, and he mentally asks them;“where is your God now?”*Meet Kyuhyun.Kyuhyun has been away for quite a long time, so he is quite awkward with how the world works today.Hehatesthe world, and he wishes for it to end.Though he believes if given the opportunity, maybe he could try a day or two walking on the wet road after the rain or tasting that greenish drink that smells like peppermint.Flying around does get boring sometimes; just saying.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This has been a fic I posted in LiveJournal eons ago, but never got around to continue. You might or might have not read the prologue and the first two chapters, but this is where I'll be posting the rest of the series.
> 
> I just miss KyuMin so much.  
> 

He came the night Sungmin thought of the end.

“This would be it,” he said. “This would be the last,” he said. The small dagger in his hands were raised high above his head, and dropping fast into the throat of the groaning huge, bald man underneath him. In the mere second, Sungmin thought that he would like to see blood bursting out and splattered onto his face for the last time. At least he would love to take the last beautiful scene to his deep end of hell for the last time.

But no. While the big guy was gurgling and drowning in his own blood blocking the air from reaching his lung and his brain, Sungmin was watching disappointedly as the blood was just gushing from the torn skin. No bursting, no splatter. Nothing beautiful about anything that end in silence.

It’s boring.

“Aaaah, that’s bad. Just a clean cut, what a waste,” someone told him from behind. Sungmin jolted and instinctively pulled the dagger from the dying bastard’s neck. Quickly, he turned around and was ready to make another end for his end tonight.

“Eeeeehh…? What’s ending, I wonder? Your debt?” a gush of wind passed on his back and Sungmin shivered. He stepped backwards, carefully trying not to touch the other dead bodies he ripped apart just half an hour ago. Keeping his focus on his surrounding, there was a sense of pride washed over him as he watched the piles of fresh bleeding corpses in front of him.

A masterpiece. A final masterpiece that worth an eternity.

“I agree. It is a masterpiece. Sloppily done, a bit impatient in techniques, but still, a masterpiece indeed.” Sungmin turned around, still unable to see his impending victim. The lights from the neighbouring skyscrapers around this abandoned three-storey warehouse showered his back and Sungmin watched his shadow that moved following his gestures.

“What a lonely shadow,” someone whispered next to his right ear, and Sungmin was frozen, literally. His legs felt as if he just stepped deep into a wet cement and stuck, and the dagger in his hands were painful as if it was sewn into his palms. His eyes were fixed onto his own shadow spread out in front of him; the shadow that he sometimes hated when he was alone at night, when the streets were too peaceful and the stars were too bright.

“Who the fuck are you??” he screamed in frustration of his currently paralysed condition. A chuckle was heard. Then the clicks and clacks of boots were nearing him. Surrounding him. A few moments later, dozens of black feathers were raining him from above, and the warehouse was suddenly empty. Sungmin gasped.

His masterpiece. No, no, no! Not tonight! Not when he decided that it’s the end!

“Sorry, your work was fine, but… I don’t know. I loved it, really. I think it was raw and wonderful. But some of my colleagues, they just don’t understand,” a man wearing a black leather trench coat slowly floated down from above. His brown hair moved bouncily as he landed right in front of Sungmin, just a few inches away from him. Sungmin could see the black feathers surrounding them like a tornado that moved in a slow motion.

Swirling, swirling, floating and stopped.

“Why are you here?” Sungmin asked, voice unaltered with fear. There was none in his eyes. Or in his face. Just cautiousness and infliction of danger. The man in trench coat smiled contentedly, as if now he had found what he was looking for.

“Now that’s a bit rude, don’t you think? You asked for me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. Since about a year ago. You asked for me so loud, every single day at every single hour, that the whole garrison was uneasy. Their schedules were reprogrammed, just for your sake.” Sungmin grimaced, and then rolled his eyes.

Now what the hell with this garrison or whatsoever? Which army this guy is talking about? And why is he in a trench coat?

“Why? I don’t even know you, or you whole fucking army.” The guy made a surprised face, and then he smiled. Sungmin felt mocked.

“Why? To make sure we didn’t meet, of course! They’re afraid, Sungmin.”

“Of what? And how do you know my name??” Sungmin became even more confused. What the fuck is this guy talking about?

The guy made a funny face which Sungmin figured that it was a way of him to show that he was thinking hard. Sungmin felt tired suddenly of this weird and twisted chat with a more twisted looking man.

“Well, at first they were only afraid of me. Just for a few thousand years though because after that they put me on exile at someplace and they were relieved. And then you were born. Oh Sungmin, if only you could see the looks on their faces the day your first cry cracked the gates…” his eyes were distant as if trying to remember something so nostalgic. Sungmin started to feel very annoyed. This was not the end he intended it to be.

“Okay, creepy floating guy. I had enough of this, this fucking bullshit you’re feeding me. Cut to the chase.”

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

“Yeah try to be paralysed and cannot sit down.”

The guy snapped his fingers and Sungmin started to feel his limbs working again. He would expect himself to be running away and finish the end he was saving for tonight, but to his surprises, he didn’t. Slowly, he wiped away the blood on his blade with the end of his shirt and sat down in front of the creepy guy, ready to listen more to his, like he said, bullshit.

The end can be delayed for a few hours.

“Curious, aren’t we now?”

“My masterpiece is gone. I’m pissed as shit but I’m also bored. You sound fun and I will end everything soon, anyway.”

The man chuckled, and took away the now cleaned blade from his hand. “I am sure you won’t end anything with this, though.”

“Nah, I got something bigger.” He turned away from staring at the trench coat in front of him and stared into the distant.

“You said they’re afraid of me. Why?” he drew something on the dusty floor of the abandoned warehouse. A pair of wings. The creepy guy bent down and smiled as he checked the small impermanent drawing.

“Of us now.”

“Why?”

“Because now, we’ve found each other.”

Sungmin said ‘humm’ and continued doodling on the dust. Now a halo in between the two wings.

“You were saying you’re exiled a few thousand years ago? How many thousands, exactly?” Sungmin asked, meaning to be sarcastic, but he thought the creepy guy was creepily serious.

“Eleven… I guess? No, it was twelve thousand years ago. I remember because humans were only some creepy apes at that time.”

Sungmin made an unbelieving face.

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty six thousand years old in human years.” Sungmin laughed, hard. How does a twenty six thousand years old man dressed stylishly in a leather trench coat?

“What are you? Ghost? Spirit?”

The guy laughed too, and then suddenly turned serious.

“No. I’m an angel. Funny, I thought you would know that.” Sungmin’s laugh quietened.

“Funny. Why would I? I don’t even believe in a god,” he replied, a bit pissed.

“Really? Are you sure? You don’t believe in a god?” the guy laughed even harder this time, even comically pressing his stomach as if it was so funny that it hurt.

“Yeah. Why? What’s so funny?”

“Of course it is. That’s the same reason why you’re the first and the last angel beheaded among the garrison in the first place.”


	2. Ad Quod Damnum

[to whatever damage]

****

**_“You’ve been out of the world a long time, haven’t you?”_ **

****

**_“Yeah.”_ **

****

**_“Well, the world’s missed you.”_ **

****

**_\- Theo and Eleanor, The Haunting._ **

****

-

The pictures came in flashes.

Sometimes he saw his hands were fisting knives, bloody knives; slicing through people’s veins and fleshes. He heard them cried, begged him to spare their lives, telling him about how they have loved ones waiting for them to come home.

And then it went black for a few long seconds, before another picture flashed in.

Those people were now dead. Hands were still fisting knives. Blotches of blood on his hands and shirt became a painted canvas. Glances of body parts on the floor, unattached to their deceased owners.

It went black once again. This time he could hear himself snickering. Sometimes the blood smelt real. And then his voice emerged in a whisper, pushing through and hard, fighting against the darkness.

“The end.”

Another picture flashed. He saw himself grinning this time, looking into a rectangular mirror filled with stickers of wings and halos and little cupids all over its edge. He knew where the place was instantly.

It was the mirror inside his bathroom.

“This is not the end, yet, Sungmin. We both know that we want more than this,” he was speaking to his reflection inside the mirror. Still grinning. Hands were palming his cheeks; the icky red liquid stuck on his face.

Funny, he could swear he liked the feeling on thick blood running slowly down to his chin (but he really didn’t).

It went black again, just for a few milliseconds, like how the television was when a drama was halted to give way for a commercial.

_Eeeeehh…? What’s ending, I wonder? Your debt?_

And then there were feathers, black feathers; surrounding, twirling, twirling, floating… stopped. A smile. A deep, clear voice was laughing – at him.

_They are afraid now, Sungmin. Of us._

Brown hair bouncing on an animated head. Brown eyes.

Black leather trench coat, flipping around as the man who wore it turned to face him.

_But it’s okay. I’m here now._

A gentle smile.

_You’re not alone anymore._

“Sungmin.”

-

He opened his eyes as the voice penetrated through the darkness. Sungmin blinked thrice, momentarily incapable of registering where he was or what he was doing or why. He had a hint of the time, though. It was high noon, judging from the dim yellow light behind the grey clouds peeking inside through the cracked roof, though the cold wind rattled through the windows of what seemed like an abandoned, old building hadn’t actually help in explaining the weather. Well, after all, it was autumn.

Sungmin sat up and his movement twirled up the dusts around him, rising up in an instant and slowly sinking back down on the floor. Thick and everywhere, it covered up almost all square of the room, leaving only the part where Sungmin was sitting clean and empty. Some of the dust particles were caught in his throat, and Sungmin coughed a little and cleared his throat a few times, trying to make the itchiness that he couldn’t scratch go away.

“Try rubbing your ears.”

Surprised with the calm and steady voice that came and greeted him out of nowhere, Sungmin instinctively squatted from his current position, one knee on the floor and both hands were fisted up in front of his face, ready to pounce on whoever it was.

“Wow, still rather sharp, I see,” a man entered through the threshold, hands up in retreat but still made his way until he was standing right in front of Sungmin in the middle of the room. Sungmin relaxed both his hands back to his side, and pushed himself up from his squatting position almost jumpily. Although his expression was still of cautious and defensive.

The man smirked to see that he was no longer a threat, at least not a big one. His hands were now swiping off the dusts that fell on his shoulders and staining his plain white shirt. His fashion choice didn’t seem to be affected by the toe-curling weather outside. His nose scrunched, disgusted with a few strands of spider web that were weighed down with the rubbles of termite-infested, chewed-down floorboards stuck in his hair. Sungmin dusted his pants and rolled his eyes.

“You know, you could always pick a better place to spend the night. Any hotels, a friend’s house… or perhaps your own filthy apartment? As to why you would choose an office in abandoned warehouse like this puzzles me,” the man complained, this time rubbing the invisible dirt off from his dark blue denim. He couldn’t care less that Sungmin wasn’t really listening as much as how Sungmin couldn’t care to entertain him with a conversation. He had always known Sungmin as someone with little words.

“Is that yours?” he pointed out to a silver dagger with black leather folded beautifully as its handle; the blade was stabbed full length into the hard concrete at one end of the office room until only a few inches of the sharp end could be seen under the silver crossguard. The floor around where it stood cracked, as if someone had just used his whole energy and was furious, very furious, and pushed the dagger into the place where it was that noon. Sungmin silently nodded, and shuffled slowly from where they were talking to pick up his dagger back, when he felt a gust of wind went past his side and there the man was, at the end of the corner, pulling his dagger out from the floor effortlessly.

“Don’t—”

“ _Touch my thing, Eric_. I know, I know, relax darling,” the guy mocked him, holding the dagger with his left hand and pushing the end of the blade into the pad of his right thumb. He smiled as he could see his own reflection on the carved silver.

“What happened last night? I heard you’ve got yourself some help.” Eric queried, his voice travelled along as he reappeared in an instant next to Sungmin, handing him the blade back with a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. Sungmin’s eyes were following the trail of his shadows; Eric’s movement surely was enough a proof that he wasn’t human. Sungmin knew he wasn’t human. To be honest, he never really questioned what kind of being Eric was. He just kind of appeared one day, picked him up from the dump he was in, gave him an apartment to sleep in _(which he hadn’t fully utilise, according to Eric)_ , gave him names and pictures, with just five words spoken, every single time, _‘I want them in Hell.’_

Oh, and money. Buck loads of money.

The rest was all on Sungmin. He couldn’t remember where he picked the dagger; he woke up one night and it was there in his pocket. Heck, before Eric, he only had his name and his fists to live for. He didn’t even know his age. So when Eric came with the preposition, he figured, what harm could it be? If Eric wants some people in his Hell, and Sungmin was someone who could make it happen, let it be. He hoped there really was a Hell though, or all those dead bastards he choked and sliced and ripped open from throats to navels would just… die.

Die, and vanished. Poof, just like that. If they were going to end up wasted like that, Sungmin thought having a Hell would really be an advantage, even slightly.

 “I finished my job. But some bastard flew in and took them away,” he said, wiping his dagger with the hem of his shirt until it was squeaky clean. He tried to avoid the tall man’s gaze as much as he could, but not too much or he would be perceived as a liar. Eric raised one eyebrow. Sungmin bit his lower lip as his stomach began to growl.

He missed breakfast today.

“Flew… in?”

“Yeah. Literally. With wings – huge, black, wings. He appeared and all those dead bastards disappeared,” he explained, hands excited but his face was rather expressionless that he started to convince himself that Eric was not going to be persuaded.

“Sungmin…” Eric walked around him, the click-clacking of his boots against the concrete floor was rather disturbing than expected. Perhaps it was because of the empty hall of the warehouse just outside the door of the office that let the sound travelled and dispersed into a bigger space made the echoes vibrated throughout everything inside there, or it was simply Eric’s low tone laughter that made it even more threatening and darker. Sungmin tightened his jaw as Eric slid his index finger along his jawline down to neck.

“I thought you wanted the end. Last night was the end you were seeking, wasn’t it?”

“I told you,” Sungmin words were whispered out between gritted teeth, “I. Finished. The. Job.”

“What job? I don’t see any job done here.”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me, Sungmin. Believe me, I do.” Eric closed the distance between their bodies, and Sungmin flinched. His grip on his dagger suddenly turned tighter as Eric hooked one of his arms around Sungmin’s neck, and chuckled.

“But let me tell you something, love. In today’s world, no end product means no job done, regardless the industry. Only sore losers give excuses, Sungmin. Now, I believe you are many things, but that. So tell me; are there any end products I’m expecting here?” he asked knowingly as Sungmin grunted.

“No.”

“Right. No end products. Which means…?”

“It’s not the end,” Sungmin rolled his eyes again for the nth time, annoyed with the nasally voice that was speaking softly next to his face. Eric’s breath was, surprisingly – even though he kept claiming that he owned a Hell – cold. Really cold, like the breeze you felt when you opened the refrigerator at three in the morning for a bottle of water and you forgot it was almost the winter. Icy and capable of making the small hairs at the back of your neck stood up.

“It’s not the end, good. So now, I want you to keep that thing back into its sheath,” he nipped the end of the blade of Sungmin’s dagger with his finger and pushed it away because apparently Sungmin was pointing it towards his direction, and dabbed the latter’s cheek with his thumb, enjoying the cold feet Sungmin was having just from listening his gentle warnings.

“And I want you to go back home, take a bath and have a good night sleep – I really hate seeing the dark circles around your eyes, darling, such a turn-off,” he gestured his finger in front of Sungmin’s eyes, and Sungmin blinked, alarmed.

“And in a few days, I’ll bring some new faces for you to send back to where they belong. Do I make myself clear?” he asked, pulling away from Sungmin so he could study his expression. Sungmin didn’t look like he was troubled. Rather, he looked… sad? Why would he be sad?

“Yes, sir. Crystal.”

Eric shook his head slowly when Sungmin wasn’t looking. Why would he care about this bastard’s emotion?

Sungmin didn’t say anything as he left, and they both preferred it that way. It would be really awkward if they tried to get chummy by talking with each other about things outside of work, so no thank you. They were alright the way they were.

At least Sungmin thought so.

“I was telling the truth,” Sungmin suddenly decided to clarify himself. Eric was checking his iPhone though at that time, some of the shares he had in a few major companies around Asia were plummeting and it was not good, so he really wasn’t listening.

“Sorry, about what darling?”

“The bastard who took away everything. He really did fly in.”

“Oh you mean that, darling? Yeah, yeah I believe you.”

Hands were still busy sliding across the iPhone screen. Sungmin grunted again, spit hatefully on the floor and then left. Eric waved his hand even though he was sure Sungmin wouldn’t see it. As Sungmin was prodding the gravels on the way out from the abandoned warehouse, Eric tucked away his iPhone into his pocket and eyes were following Sungmin until he disappeared behind the nearest junction to the road. He then hummed a little song and smiled.

“So, you’re back for your little angel, huh?”

“I’ve been back for a while now. If only you were looking more closely, Eric.” He jumped at the sudden intrusion. As he turned around, an enormous pair of shiny black wings was flashing in front of his eyes and disappeared in an instant. What left instead was a young looking guy in a black, leather trench coat; brown hair bouncing happily as he floated down from above and eyes were drilling holes into Eric’s face. There were dozens of black feathers floating around, surrounding him yet voluntarily dispersed aside as he walked through them – slowly falling to the ground and disappeared; as if absorbed in by the floor.

“Kyuhyun. You look… well, still looking good.”

“Oh, please, don’t look so surprised, Eric. What could eleven thousand years of exile possibly do to me? You know nothing can keep me in forever.”

“Not even Bermuda?”

“Bermuda was what you would call a honeymoon in this millennium.” Eric laughed, sarcastically though, and the guy in the trench coat smirked. His hands were coolly tucked inside his trench coat’s front pockets.

“You’ve ‘trained’ him enough, I believe?” he asked after a while, and Eric snorted. He hated that word; it felt as if he was doing something good for Sungmin.

“I’ve ‘twisted’ him enough to my heart’s content, yeah. One last patch to be sewn up and he’s all yours.” He said, proudly, and he was about to say something else, another hateful remark when he could feel long, steady fingers wrapped around his neck.

“He’s never broken, nor torn down. Mind your words, you filthy carcass, or I’ll finish where Sungmin didn’t.” Eric swallowed the lump in his throat; he wasn’t sure when did it appear in the first place. Maybe it was already there when Sungmin told him about the bastard who flew in last night. Maybe it was when that bastard suddenly appeared behind him.

“You’re still a cocky prick, I see,” he said as he put both his palms up, surrendering to someone whom he would rather not have the hand-to-hand combat with.

“And you’re still just a broken ‘Adam’, Eric. See? Nothing’s change.”

Eric’s face turned sour. Kyuhyun noticed that, but that was what he would like to see, though. Eric being unhappy. He had been enjoying Sungmin for a long time now, someone need to make him clear about his position and what his actual task was.

“Screw you, you bloody angel.”

“Come on, Eric, don’t be so petty. We all know I did that to myself long ago.” Kyuhyun pulled away, letting go of Eric’s neck and stood back properly. Eric drew in a sharp breath, feeling a bit relieved that his head was still intact with his body; his mind flashed back a few millennia ago when Kyuhyun was too furious to have a conversation with and he was still too fragile to be handled roughly by anyone (but Kyuhyun just didn’t care).

To the time when the pain was there but he couldn’t die and that was when everything started.

“Where’d you send my guests?” Fixing his collar and glancing at the young man in the black leather trench coat, Eric asked curiously, trying not to look so clueless at the same time. Kyuhyun smirked, eyeing every movement Eric made with his narrowed eyes.

“You mean your ‘sons’? We’ve sent them back to Hell.” Eric eyebrows knitted, confused.

“ ‘We’? What do you mean, ‘we’? I thought there’re only you and Sungmin in the deal. Kyuhyun, we’re not having a fucking party down here,” Eric’s voice turned a pitch higher, and each word was pronounced with a pressing tone smothered all over them. Clearly, Eric was not happy with Kyuhyun’s other said acquaintances.

Kyuhyun let out a snort, before it turned into a quiet small laugh. He turned around and put his index finger on his puckered lips, as he started to float a few inches above the dusty ground. Eric blinked rapidly; his eyelids were trying hard to filter out the foreign particles that hovered in the air as Kyuhyun rose even higher.

“Is this the right gesture?” Kyuhyun suddenly asked when his left wing spread open and swept the floor in a gallant manner, followed by his right wing in less than a second later. Eric grimaced at the sound of bones cracking from the angel’s back – this is why he hated this species, as if twisting your bones into a pair of fucking wings weren’t that painful – and looked up to meet Kyuhyun’s eyes.

“The right gesture for what?”

“For a promise of secrecy,” Kyuhyun explained, and rolled his shoulders as the cracking sounds continued. Eric raised both of his eyebrows and chuckled. He was a tad unsure earlier about Kyuhyun’s question but it seemed as if it was meant for the ‘hush’ gesture he was making.

“What, you’re a bloody human now?” he asked mockingly. Kyuhyun clucked his tongue and hovered even higher, almost reaching the roof of the warehouse. Eric watched him in annoyance.

“Don’t use your bloody wings when I’m around.”

Kyuhyun laughed heartily, wings still spread but weren’t flapping. Eric grimaced when Kyuhyun hovered closer to him, and he hated it when Kyuhyun looked down to him. He felt small when in fact he wasn’t.

“Oh come on, don’t be a grumpy old fart, Eric. Rejoice, the time we’ve been waiting for has arrived.” He laughed again, spinning around in slow motion, taking his time with his small flight.

“Not as planned, though. And I’ve been wondering this for quite some times – what happened to your wings? The last time we met, they were still fluffy and white and all princess-y. Now, they’re just… black and ugly.”

Kyuhyun stopped spinning and abruptly landed on his feet. Clearly he wasn’t delighted with Eric’s bluntness.

“Never upset your God, Eric. No matter whom He is and who you are. Never.”

-

There was a rancid odour distorting his sense of smell when he entered his apartment that late afternoon. Sungmin grimaced as he put down the fresh groceries he bought on the way home on the kitchen table. Scanning around, he finally saw the red pot he left on the stove three days ago – it was Thursday, wasn’t it? – the one which he used to cook the pasta sauce when Eric suddenly appeared at his doorstep with a light brown, medium-sized envelope in his hand. Names of the bastards that were condemned to Eric’s Hell had always been carried and delivered in bulk inside envelopes like that, as if they came in packages and unless Sungmin bought them together, their discounted price would be invalid to him.

Sungmin sighed, feeling sorry towards the untouched dish. Carefully, he lifted the pot with both hands, trying not to spill any onto the floor, and poured it away into the sink. The small chunks of meat floated above the grease as the pooled water was trying to squeeze down from the small hole on the sink’s bottom. The sour smell began to dissipate as he tried to push the chunks down using a dirty fork he found next to the sink, but Sungmin could still smell it enough to cover his nose with his other hand.

Washing the dirty dishes too while he was in the mood, he hummed a familiar tune that had always been inside his head since he could ever remember. It was a sad tune, yet calming and he usually sing it while he was washing his bloodied hands and clothes late at night after a job was done. Sungmin then wondered about how there were so many things that he knew but didn’t have the memory of learning them anywhere. Like his ass-kicking skills, or weapon-handling abilities. He thought he was born with it, but when he read about human’s motor skills, he figured that it wasn’t something easily gained through genetics. Sure, the sharpness or the fast-speed and reflexes were possible, but estimating the number of opponents roughly by the way the dampness in the air changes, or which part of the neck would bleed severely when you pricked it open with the dagger just with a touch of a finger; now that wasn’t genetic. He was sure he wasn’t born like this. He wasn’t born a killer.

He never read about the genetics were able to transfer killer traits into someone, anyways.

There were three knocks heard tapping against the closed window in front of his sink, and Sungmin’s hand automatically found a kitchen knife from underneath the foams where all his cooking utensils were being cleaned. He eyed the window cautiously when he saw a pair of long legs were hanging down from the emergency stairs that connected every level of the building exteriorly. Sungmin sighed tiredly.

Some people are just oblivious to the rules of the world and Sungmin knew he wasn’t one to complaint about that – for God’s sake if He exist Sungmin ripped off people’s throats – but this boy was another case.

“Zhang Yixing.”

The college kid’s face shone, more like sparkling– the way campfires did when you threw in new dry and crispy woods, though –  and his lips were smiling excitedly despite his droopy eyes when he heard his own name being mentioned slowly by Sungmin.

“Hyung, you know my name!” he exclaimed, and Sungmin would like him to shut up or he would have to end someone’s life this afternoon.

(he really would like to not do it in his own place, please)

Sungmin ignored the overly excited Yixing who was going through his groceries, trying to find some ice-cream because “I wrote you a note to buy me one last night, hyung, didn’t you see it?” and Sungmin simply said;

“I burnt it,” while putting the last saucer into the drying basket next to the sink. He turned around and found that Yixing was eating the raw fishcakes he bought for the vegetable soup he was going to make tonight.

Sungmin growled in annoyance.

-

Yixing arrived a year ago, knocking the window just like he did earlier with a big smile on his face, introducing his name, his college name and “I’m your new neighbour upstairs,” so Sungmin slammed the window shut after saying his name and “I don’t like people”, leaving the kid gaping outside his window for a while before he went back to his own apartment, probably shocked with how he was treated in the new home. Sungmin would like to feel guilty or at least a bit of sympathy, but he had just finished burning thirteen bodies to ashes the night before and he smelt like rotten meat when he was finally home, so entertaining an unexpected guest would be the last thing he would appreciate right then.

Also, the kid used the emergency stairs instead of knocking on his door.

“Sungmin-swi, you cook? I’m envious!” were Yixing first words when they met in the elevator two days later as he saw the raw chicken inside the plastic in Sungmin’s hand. That was when Sungmin felt that something was off with the way this kid’s pronunciation. He didn’t usually care about someone’s face, let alone their speech, but this time he did, and he was instantly reminded about Yixing’s own name.

“Oh, right. Chinese.”

“Yes? I am Chinese. Why?” Yixing asked him curiously with gaping mouth that made him look like a chirping bird. Sungmin wasn’t aware that one day he would like to sew the mouth up back then.

“Nothing,” he said, eyeing the kid for a little longer before looking back at the rising number on the top of the elevator’s door. Another seven levels and a stomach growled, loudly.

“Wasn’t me!” Yixing suddenly denied when Sungmin turned around. “This kid must be stupid” was what on Sungmin’s mind because they were the only people inside the elevator.

It wasn’t Sungmin.

“I don’t cook for strangers,” Sungmin said, and walked out when the elevator reached his floor. He was sure it was because of Yixing’s weird understanding of Hangul though that the boy came knocking on his window again later that night with an empty bowl and a pair of chopstick in his hands.

He still didn’t use the door.

And that wasn’t the last time it happened.

-

“Hyung, you should consider becoming a cook. This is super delicious!” Yixing said, raising the empty rice bowl above his head but it slipped out from his hand. Sungmin who was walking towards the fridge by then caught it in time and put it back onto the table without much word. Yixing looked at him in awe.

“Or a martial art trainer, you choose. You have talents in both!” now Sungmin knew that he was pretty glad that Yixing’s Hangul was getting a little bit better so that he didn’t have to talk to him a lot when he asked anything, but not the way that he wanted it to be.

Simply put, Sungmin just wanted Yixing to shut up.

“If you’re done eating, the door’s on that side.”

“It’s okay hyung, I’ll use the window.”

“THE. DOOR. IS. ON. THAT. SIDE.” Sungmin strained his voice, and Yixing was laughing.

“Hyung, you sound funny! Do it again, do it again!” he said, clapping his hands like a retarded seal. Sungmin rubbed his temples in circles, defeated. Yixing scrunched his nose when he saw how pissed Sungmin was, so he washed his bowl without many words and was ready to leave when Sungmin asked him a weird question.

“How do you call an angel?”

“Sorry?” he asked, unsure about both the question and what his answer should be. To be honest he was happy that Sungmin wanted to speak with him, but this was out of the ordinary so he was caught off guard.

“Call an angel. Do you summon him or just call his name? Aren’t you religious?” Sungmin asked again, and Yixing solemnly shook his head. It was the first time Sungmin saw him without the sparkle in his face, so he thought maybe it was a weird question after all.

“It’s fine. Get out now.”

“I don’t believe in a God. Not anymore.” Sungmin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by Yixing’s sudden confession. A bit burdened, too. He didn’t like talking a lot with anyone. Eric was an exception, though. He wasn’t _anyone._

“Good. There’s nothing to believe in a God anyways. They already screwed up the world so bad by creating humans.”

Sungmin was shocked by his own words. Yixing too, actually. But he was pretty sure Sungmin was saying it to comfort him, which was not comforting at all. Sungmin never comfort him. Ever.

“Though, about your question earlier, I think we’re supposed to pray to them,” Yixing finally said with a laugh, trying to shake off the weird atmosphere in the room. Sungmin was lying down on the couch in the living room and he didn’t seem to care about his answer, so Yixing bid goodbye and walked out the window by the sink.

Still didn’t use the door.

“Pray, huh? Begging?” Sungmin whispered to himself with his eyes still closed when the clanging footsteps of Yixing’s shoes against the metal stairs subsided.

“Sorry, I don’t pray to anyone!” he yelled, and a few seconds later all the windows in his apartment banged opened. Along came the rustling sounds from the night wind that blew in through the windows and a man appeared by his side in a blink of eyes.

“Nope, you don’t. And you don’t have to, Sungmin-ah. Just think of me and I’ll be here at your disposal,” the man told him, bowing down a little bit like an obedient butler to his master. Sungmin gritted his teeth – it was an automatic reaction for someone like him, what’s with the entrance by this self-proclaimed angel like that.

“I want to know everything,” he said.

“Everything that Eric doesn’t know.”

The angel smiled, and his brown eyes turned blue.

-

Yixing was getting ready to bed when he heard the wind rustled loudly against his window panes, making them rattled against each other. It sounded as if something big was flying through the building and it gave him goose bumps. Curiously, he peeked outside his window and just a level below him; two guys were floating outside Sungmin’s apartment.

“These winged guys again,” he whispered to himself, annoyed. He saw the two guys with huge white wings were peeking through the closed windows, sometimes circling the whole building before hovering back to their initial positions.

He had seen enough of these guys today, even during classes. Some of them were his classmates, and they didn’t get along with him. Always trying to get him in troubles. Sometimes they called him ‘freak’ behind his back and he would like to say that it wasn’t him who was backpacking a pair of gigantic, fag-looking wings on his back all the time but it seemed like other than him or probably themselves, none of his other normal classmates were able to see the freaky wings.

Stupid winged freaks.

He peeked again; this time one of the winged guys was trying to enter Sungmin’s apartment, but it seemed as if he was bounced against the wall when he did so. Yixing laughed; happy to see the freaks acting stupid. Slowly, he opened his window up, breathed in –

“Fucking stalkers!” he yelled in Chinese, and quickly shut his window before going back to his bed. He giggled happily and mischievously until he fell asleep, unaware of what happened to the winged freaks who were stalking Sungmin just now.

Yixing woke up the next day feeling happy, and if only he was able to tell Sungmin about those winged freaks. He showered, put on his three-year-old Levi’s and his favourite red hoodie, slung his backpack on and went to the elevator.

When he reached the main entrance of the apartment building, he saw the old janitor whom he never failed to greet every morning to be complaining about something. Since he still got some time to waste before his first class really started, he decided to interview the janitor what he was upset about.

“Someone threw piles of ashes down from their fucking window and I have to fucking swept it up this early in the morning. What an asshole! And you know how many buckets I used for that? Six fucking buckets! How the hell someone could burn something to ashes inside the building and didn’t trigger the water sprinkler??” and Yixing could only hear so many curse words in the morning before his ears sweat oil, so he said how sorry he was for the janitor and “let’s have a coffee when I’m back from school today!” and dashed off to his class.

He wasn’t late, but he didn’t want to be the last one to arrive before the professor came in.

He didn’t see the few white spots that the janitor missed at the side of the building.

They were parts of some huge, badly burnt feathers.

God knew what happened to their owners.

 


	3. Damnatio Memoriae

[damnation of memories]

 

 _“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”_  


**_― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise_ **

 

-

 _Did you hear? He’s creating a new breed_.

He could see Kyuhyun leaning against the thousand-year-old tree in the middle of the vast purple field, and he was smiling. Sungmin breathed in the fresh air around him; it was lavender.

_And He’s going to make them so fragile, that they will die once they’ve done their mission._

He saw his own two feet shuffling against the grass and dirt underneath, circling the tree and he could hear himself humming a tune that he thought was familiar (the same tune he hummed while washing the dishes earlier).

_He’s going to create them from dirt. I mean, isn’t that degrading? Even Jiyong was made from fire._

He could hear Kyuhyun chuckling.

_Hey, I’m not talking to the tree, you know?_

He saw Kyuhyun nodding, and he saw his two feet were back in movement.

_I have a bad premonition about this new breed, Kyuhyun. Can’t we do something about it?_

“That’s why I’m here now, Sungmin.”

-

It was just a slight touch on his lips. Touching, but not pressured or forced on. Warm and overwhelming, and it was probably because of the sudden light that went flashing into his eyes, Sungmin wasn’t able to do anything about it until his ears stopped buzzing and his head felt lighter.

“Welcome back,” Kyuhyun said as he pulled just an inch away from Sungmin. His blue eyes slowly retreated back to dark brown; crawling back inside into his pupil like a spider web that was created in reverse.

“You’re too close,” Sungmin finally said, trying to push the angel away, but Kyuhyun kept seated in front of him, eyes fixed on his. Sungmin sighed in frustration when he figured that his attempt would only be ignored, so he stared back into Kyuhyun’s face.

“Did you just _kiss_ me?”

“Is that what the humans call it? A _kiss_?” Kyuhyun returned the question, he seemed curious enough to frown after asking it. Sungmin rolled his eyes annoyingly.

“Was that heaven?” he finally asked, ignoring Kyuhyun’s question as he was trying to curb his curiosity from overflowing through his expression. Kyuhyun smiled and nodded. Sungmin took his time to admire the way Kyuhyun’s nose crinkled when he smiled, enough to realise that Kyuhyun was admiring his face just as much as how he was about his.

 “Pretty, wasn’t it? The old tree, the purple lavender field... oh Sungmin, if only we could smell it again,” Kyuhyun finally said after he saw Sungmin turning his face away. He still didn’t budge to move, though. Sungmin wondered if Kyuhyun had always been this way since forever.

“...you miss heaven?” Sungmin asked after a long pause, and Kyuhyun laughed.

“Humans are so obsessed with achieving God’s favours so they can reach heaven. Some are even trying to create their own versions of heaven, and they haven’t got the slightest taste of it. What do you think creatures that had been living in one for millennia would do to get back in there?” Kyuhyun said, and Sungmin hated how the answer was so vague but so full of longing and conviction.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really been there.” He closed his eyes, and slammed his back onto the backrest of the couch, letting his body sink into the old furniture. He liked it when his vision was limited and his other senses were focused. Like how he could hear the drops of water dripping from the tap in his kitchen, or the way the wind was howling rather ferociously outside his windows. He thought he was hearing voices, too, whispering as if there were people behind the walls of his apartment. The smell of old, probably superannuated furniture that he kept in his living room were overwhelming, and sometimes he would love to think that there were histories carved into those rickety woods and rusty metals, as if they were waiting for someone who could see them to finally dig them out and let their stories be heard by anyone who cares.

“You know that’s a lie you’re telling yourself. You were there, weren’t you? You heard it yourself. Your voice, your questions, your worries.” He could hear Kyuhyun moved, getting off the couch and walked towards the nearest window. He could hear the voices were talking behind the walls again, only this time, Kyuhyun was talking to them. He knew it wasn’t only inside his head.

 _‘Rats,’_ Kyuhyun whispered to someone. He sounded pissed.

 _‘We don’t need rats now, do we, Kyuhyun?’_ someone whispered back to him with a small laugh; his voice raspy and a little too manly. Kyuhyun wasn’t walking. Sungmin knew he wasn’t, because a few seconds ago he could hear the flutters of feathers being thrown opened and strong winds were gushing inside his apartment.

For God’s sakes to which Kyuhyun claimed was real, Sungmin thought it would really be inconvenient if Yixing decided to barge in right now.

“Whatever you do, don’t make a mess in my apartment,” he warned the angel, and Kyuhyun chortled.

“I won’t. Just eliminating some pests, that is all.”

Sungmin slowly opened his eyes, and the only thing that he was able to see was a pair of shiny black wings retreating back into Kyuhyun’s dorsum. Kyuhyun was standing directly in front of an opened window, looking outside for another seconds before closing it.

“Is that a part-time job?” Sungmin asked sarcastically, and Kyuhyun frowned.

“I... don’t have _jobs_. I’ve always been an angel since creation.” Sungmin sighed. It was a mistake to joke with someone who was exiled for eleven thousand years, or so that Kyuhyun told him.

Sungmin ignored the confused Kyuhyun and closed his eyes again. He wanted to see the person Kyuhyun was talking to outside of his apartment just now, but he didn’t feel like moving his feet. Kyuhyun probably didn’t want him to see that person, too, since he was distancing himself from the window as soon as Sungmin opened his eyes.

“What’s Eric got to do with _you_?” Sungmin shot out of nowhere, and Kyuhyun didn’t seem to be ready for it, since he took a long time before he answered it.

“ _Us_ , you mean.”

“ _You_.” Sungmin’s stern voice made Kyuhyun became a little jumpy, but he tried to stay calm just like his voice.

An old acquaintance.”

“He said he owns a Hell.”

“He does.” Kyuhyun answered simply, and Sungmin was pretty pissed with the short answers.

“I thought Devil owns Hell?” Sungmin asked dumbly, and Kyuhyun hovered from the window back to the couch.

“He’s that, too.” He answered, one hand raised towards Sungmin’s face, and Sungmin flinched, backing away. Kyuhyun’s hand stopped midway, and he let it hovered in front of Sungmin’s face, not doing anything for almost a minute.

It was a minute of silence, but pregnant with a lot of questions. Sungmin’s, mostly.

“I’ve a lot of shits to ask, but I don’t even know where to begin,” Sungmin told him, almost whispering. Kyuhyun smiled, nodded and pulled his hand away. It felt lonely, watching his hand distancing from him, and Sungmin felt a subtle hard beating on his chest. Like a heartache.

“Well, you’re curious enough to know things that Eric doesn’t. That’s an achievement.” He said, patting Sungmin on the back. It felt weird. His palm on his back was tangible, real, but definitely ghostly at the same time. It was a new sensation, but deep inside it felt like it had always been familiar to Sungmin.

“If I am really an angel, what am I doing here? On Earth, I mean.” Sungmin inquired, and Kyuhyun’s head snapped towards him. There was a soft smile on his face.

“You did nothing wrong. You were just... trying to fix the only thing that everybody knew didn’t supposed to exist. The only thing that He built out of flaws and mistakes.”

Sungmin chewed on his lower lip, and waited for another explanation from Kyuhyun. As if he was reading his thoughts (Sungmin bet he did), Kyuhyun brought his hand once again towards Sungmin’s face, and finally palmed his cheek.

There was something calming, something that once was so out of reach Sungmin couldn’t find a word to describe how Kyuhyun’s hand felt on his skin. How _Kyuhyun_ felt.

He thought he must’ve been in love with this touch at least once, whether he was aware of it or not.

“Sungmin... you were just trying to fix _humans_.”

In the kitchen and out of his vision, his blade that was sitting nicely on top of the kitchen counter started to spin and clutter.

-

Not a single thought about the piles of ashes in front of the apartment building intruded Zhang Yixing’s mind for the whole day, until that late evening.

He was walking home alone from campus with his earphones plugged in and the playlist on his phone was a mixture of Coldplay, Nirvana and surprisingly; Buble’s. On any other days, Buble’s jazzy style of music usually made him feel a little uncomfortable, but today it felt like he needed to listen to something smooth and a little dance-y. Yixing wondered if it was because Sungmin’s effort to console him last night or because of the curses he threw at those winged bastards outside his apartment last night that made him a little bit chirpier than always. Seriously, he even smiled at a couple of those winged freaks who was glaring at him when he arrived at the class this morning, and that meant something.

Because before this, Zhang Yixing would have never even thought to do that, ever.

Going back to the apartment building would require Yixing to cross a small bridge since the road was separated by a narrow, brownish and shallow river which surprisingly continued to survive beneath the concrete walls of modern buildings along its bank. It was actually Yixing’s secret favourite place to be whenever he felt suffocated with the air or the smell or the people living in the big old city. The city’s skyscrapers were definitely disturbing, but if he was standing on the right angle at the right time, he could see the sunrise or sunset almost perfectly.

So that late evening, Yixing was watching the sun set into the roots of the busy city when a tall dude with bright red hair suddenly appeared out of nowhere and stood next to him on the bridge.

 _‘Perfect posture,’_ Yixing secretly admired.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” the tall dude asked; his thick, fiery red hair was tied neatly at the back of his head and Yixing guessed that if he let it down, it could be just a couple of inches above his shoulders. It looked so soft and fluffy, too, and Yixing suddenly found himself trying hard to resist the temptation of patting the tall man’s head.

“Not my hair. The sun, I mean,” he suddenly continued, chuckling, and Yixing felt his cheeks crimsoning. Turning his head around in a snap, he cursed his habit of staring at strangers’ faces a little too long like that. Sungmin called him a _‘creepy bastard’_ for about a month after their first encounter because of that.

“I _am_ looking at the sun, man.” Yixing explained himself, though he was pretty sure he didn’t sound so convincing at all. The tall man laughed; his voice was deep and raspy, and Yixing wondered that there really are people who were born with perfect postures and perfect faces and perfect voices like this.

 _Perfection does exist_ , and Yixing somehow felt the inadequacy of his features to stand side by side with a picture perfect creature like this. The tall guy suddenly tutted, as if disagreeing with something, and Yixing was amazed that the timing was so perfect with his inner thoughts it felt as if the guy was actually reading his mind.

“It’s sad to think that the world has crushed the sole definition of perfection itself into a small piece of junk,” the man said while still adoring the sun that was slowly disappearing into the skyline of the city, and Yixing raised his brows.

“I don’t really get it, but I think I should feel insulted by your words,” he said, irritated. The tall guy crinkled his nose, and made a confused face.

“You shouldn’t. If you’d like to feel anything at all, then feel proud. I’ve only just complimented you, Yixing,” he tried to explain, and then took a step backwards when he realised he had just call Yixing’s name. He seemed flabbergasted, and Yixing thought he suddenly looked like a child _(his huge, nervous-looking eyes, his shallow dimples that appeared as his lips were quivering with hesitation and his perfectly aligned teeth that make it seemed as if he was snarling when he smiled gave it away)._ That entire dreamy picture perfect dude had gone in a flash. Yixing would like to laugh because if they were in a different situation _(in a restaurant sitting while facing each other, sharing wine and seafood gourmet, perhaps?)_ this would be a cute mistake and he would definitely say yes if the guy ever asked him to spent the night together, but no. A stranger which he had never seen before that knew his name wasn’t a good choice of a random blind date.

“Err... okay... enjoy the sunset...” he said, almost mumbling as his head was estimating whether his feet were strong enough to sprint after he got the perfect distance he needed from the stranger. The bright red head prompted his right hand forward, trying to stop Yixing from running away, and he succeeded. His hand caught one of the useless decorative strings hanging from Yixing’s knapsack as he turned around, and Yixing was jolted backwards.

“Wait, Yixing.”

“How do you fucking know my name??” Yixing finally burst out of fear when the tall guy secured his arms around him. While he was starting to feel suffocated against the guy’s chest, his head began to fill with all possible endings – _a tied up corpse, carvings of satanic spells on his skin, eyeballs in drinking glasses_ –

The tall guy suddenly snickered, and Yixing was dumbfounded. Looking up, he could see the guy was grinning at him, and the dark orange sunlight was making his already bright red hair looked as if it was on fire.

 _‘Gorgeous,’_ he thought secretly.

“That... is gross. Seriously – _eyeballs?_ ” he said, slowly letting go of Yixing and fixed his crumpled black shirt. Taking a glimpse, Yixing could see a figure of something sharp; shaped like a tail of a dangerous animal tattooed on the left side of his chest. It looked familiar enough that he couldn’t take his eyes off it until he heard the man cleared his throat.

“...have we met before?” Yixing suddenly asked, and the man hastily buttoned his shirt up, as if he was very aware of the same tattoo. Shaking his head, he drew a smile and Yixing was a bit frustrated that the sun was almost gone for him to enjoy the view.

“My name’s—” he started after they’ve both calmed down, but then paused as a strong gust of wind with a faint scent of lavender gushed in between them, so strong that Yixing had to hold the tall guy’s arm to stay vertical. The wind began twirling a few feet away from where they were both standing, as if a mini tornado was about to emerge, but then slowly dissipated, leaving a small brunette inside a complete all-white suit, snarling at both of them.

“Get away from him, Chanyeol! You’re not even a part of this!” he squealed, legs spread and arms up in front of his face, getting into a defensive position. The tall man with bright red hair, or Chanyeol, it seemed, stepped in front of Yixing, opening both his arms as if he was ready to receive any attack from the small brunette in Yixing’s place.

Yixing was beyond clueless.

“Have you forgotten to whom you’re talking to, Baekhyun? And how am I not a part of this? When those fucking Angels were the ones who pulled me into this mess,” Chanyeol said calmly, but Yixing could smell a sense of authority hovering over his words, choking the seemingly cautious Baekhyun, or so he was called.

“That was the previous generation garrison’s mistake, and it was a long time ago. Things have changed, Chanyeol, and we do not need a Demon’s assistance anymore. Now get away from him, and we Angels will take it from here,” Baekhyun tried to reason, his voice a little calmer than earlier. Yixing was still at loss, but somehow he felt safer standing behind Chanyeol like this. Without realising it, he fisted the hem of Chanyeol’s shirt and stood a little closer to his back than before. He could hear Chanyeol silently chuckled.

“That’s it. Hold on to me like that, and don’t let go, _my Liege_.” Chanyeol whispered, and Yixing was taken aback.

A sense of familiarity suddenly washed over him. He had been in this situation before, but when? And _Liege_?

“Poor Baekhyun. Studied hard for eight hundred years and still an idiot. Maybe you’re deaf or simply blind – I don’t care. But there must be some errors while He was making you that you’re still delusional about where we stand,” he said, baring his teeth as he grinned, and Yixing could hear something cracked from the inside of Chanyeol’s dorsum. In less than two seconds, his face felt an intense heat emanating from the man’s back. He was about to let go of Chanyeol’s shirt when the tall guy grabbed his hand, as if asking him not to do so.

“But you’re... burning!” Yixing screamed when he saw two big flares of fire rolled out from Chanyeol’s back, and rapidly spread to both his arms. Yixing’s eyes bulged when he saw the big hand that was gripping his lit up like a log inside a campfire.

“Yes I am, but you won’t be harmed. Believe me, my Liege. Please, believe me,” Chanyeol whispered again. His eyes were looking straight into Yixing’s, and that was when he felt another familiarity hit him.

Light blue eyes, like the inside of a fire.

_The prettiest of a fire, but also the hottest._

Chanyeol’s eyes were flickering. It was weird, but Yixing didn’t feel the heat anymore. Instead, the fire on Chanyeol’s hand was turning into comfortable warmth – the one that he always found when he saw Sungmin’s back while he was preparing dinner _(even though there were no words of affection being said)_.

Being protected. Being taken care of. A great ardour.

“I believe you.” He said, and nodded. Chanyeol stared at him for a second, and then grinned. His eyes turned into a darker blue, and the two big flares of fire that rolled out from his back earlier turned into the shape of a pair of huge wings, hovering over Yixing and then lowered; they were protecting him. Chanyeol’s hair was burning, literally, and Yixing made a mental note to ask him later if he felt the heat boiling his brain.

“You’re not an Angel, Baekhyun. You’re still a mere Cherub. You’re the lowest of the lowest in Heaven, kissing everyone’s ass so you could have a role there, no matter how small and insignificant it is,” Chanyeol snickered, and Yixing could see Baekhyun’s face turned.

“Shut up! What does a Demon know about an Angel’s mission?! All that you bastards do is making a mess on Earth and filling Hell with the damned! There’s a reason why God makes Hell a dark, dirty pit. It suits your species!” Baekhyun counterattacked, and started to advance towards Chanyeol. As he did so, a bright yellow light emerged from between his clasped palms, and a golden bow appeared when he pulled his hands apart.

_Damn, what is he, a fucking Cupid?_

Chanyeol laughed, as if he could hear Yixing’s thought before focusing on his opponent. Baekhyun was pulling the string intensely as he approached them, an arrow was in place, and Yixing was worried Chanyeol might get killed _(though he doubted creatures like them could die)._

Baekhyun was only a few feet away when Chanyeol finally made a move. Stepping one step forward, he held out a hand and waited until Baekhyun was near enough for him to catch his slim neck easily inside his burning hand. As soon as he was trapped, Baekhyun’s bow and arrow instantly burnt and turned to ashes, and this was when Yixing suddenly reminded of the ashes that the old janitor was complaining about.

“You see, _filthy little rat_. I don’t usually use this form when I kill petty Cherubs. All I needed to do was snap my fingers and you’ll turn to ashes, every fucking one of you. But today’s special. Today, I’ve found my Liege, and no matter how small or big the threat is, it is only logical for me to use my full effort in protecting him,” he said, his raspy voice intensified with every word spoken. Baekhyun was struggling to escape, and his neck was starting to burn; hot gasses were filling in under his skin and made it bubbled around Chanyeol’s hand. Blood started to drip from the burnt meat, and with every scream he let out, the burn escalated to the other parts of his face. Chanyeol grinned again, and Yixing turned away from watching.

“But you’re in luck tonight, Cherub, because I’m not going to kill you. Be my messenger; tell the rest of your garrison that the day they’ve feared is finally here, and be prepared. The First Fallen Angels have found each other, and believe me, they’re not very forgiving. It’s only a matter of time for Sungmin to recover his _Grace_ back,” Chanyeol told him. Yixing was surprised to hear Sungmin’s name mentioned, but he decided to keep it in until this cruelty in front of him is finished.

“You... Demon! Ugh! The Heaven trusted you, and this is how you pay us??” Baekhyun cursed as the burn started to crawl onto his left cheek. He could hear his own meat sizzling. Chanyeol’s grin disappeared, and his eyes turned sharp. He seemed utterly pissed.

“As expected from a lowly Cherub. You don’t know a thing about your bosses, do you? They’re trickier than Demons. They make Heaven seems like a reward for everyone, when the truth is they’re putting traps and scary prisons in there. I was doing fine on my own, here on Earth, and then they had to pull me into their stupid, twisted labyrinth! They’re making slavery looks like an honour! And what can a lowly young Cherub like you possibly know about it??”

Chanyeol yelled, and Baekhyun was losing his breath. He could die any minute now if this was going on. Yixing couldn’t say anything because he knew Chanyeol wouldn’t want to hear him now, so he tugged on his shirt a little stronger, almost crying, and Chanyeol finally seemed as if he was awakened from a dream.

Letting go of Baekhyun, he pulled Yixing who was shivering behind him into his arm, and the wings of fire started to diminish. His hair wasn’t on fire anymore, and when he was no longer burning, the only thing that didn’t change was his eyes. They were still blue.

Yixing was still stupidly clinging onto Chanyeol’s side, not knowing who was the good and the bad guy. He was also too confused, fascinated and scared, obviously at the same time. This was just too much input to take in, and he just wanted to lie down in his apartment right now, please.

Looking down onto the badly injured Cherub, Chanyeol then took Yixing’s hand and put it onto Baekhyun’s head. Yixing gave him a weird look, and stopped his hand midway.

“The truth is everyone knows your name, Yixing. This is one of the reasons why,” Chanyeol said, and proceeded to make sure Yixing’s hand was touching Baekhyun. Like a special effect inside a magical movie, the burnt gradually ceased and disappeared completely. Yixing was beyond surprised. He had always dreamt of becoming a doctor when he was little, but if it’s like this, he didn’t even have to study hard to become one.

“What... how... did I just...?” his words turned into a series of unfinished queries, and Chanyeol laughed. Baekhyun, who was now fully healed picked himself up and checked the place where the injuries were once there. Seeing him standing up, Chanyeol shot him a stare and Baekhyun flinched.

“Tell your Heaven everything that I’ve told you. Don’t let a single word left out.”

“What you said about Heaven... was it true?” Baekhyun asked, voice still intense but calmer. Chanyeol snickered again.

“I’m not a Demon; I don’t lie or trick people. Do your homework, Cherub. There’s a reason why there are Fallen Angels roaming the Earth instead of trying to ask for Heaven’s forgiveness.” He said. The Cherub’s brows wrinkled.

“Then... _what_ are you?”

Chanyeol grinned, and Yixing, who was still unable to accept that he had just healed someone with his hand, a Cherub on top of that, could see little sparks of fire ignited behind Chanyeol’s teeth as he did so.

 _Something. Someone. A distant past._ Yixing wasn’t really sure, but...

“I _know_ what you are,” Yixing suddenly said, and Chanyeol’s grin faded. Baekhyun was still standing near them, waiting for Yixing’s guess.

“I mean, I _remember_ who you are. But I don’t know when, or how or why...” Yixing added, his eyes were getting a little unfocused and Chanyeol was about to palm his cheek when he suddenly looked up and stared into his eyes, as if he was trying to bore a hole on his face.

 _“You’re the bird on fire.”_ Yixing said the first thing that came to his mind. Someone whispered it to him once, he was sure. But he didn’t have any idea who, or when.

“What?” Baekhyun asked, getting a little loss. Chanyeol pursed his lips, and his shallow dimples were showing again. He seemed relaxed.

“You’re the Phoenix.”                                                            

-

Instead of suddenly appearing out of thin air like he always did, Eric rang the bell this time. Sungmin was pretty surprised, though he didn’t show it on his face. Well, normal people should use the door, anyways.

“Already cleaned, I see.” Eric commented as soon as he strutted into the house, one hand sliding along the top of the small shoe cabinet next to the front door and the other was holding a medium-sized, brown envelope – the names of people condemned to Eric’s Hell.

Walking past Sungmin and into the living room, Eric then stopped in his track and shut his eyes.

“You smell that?” he asked. Sungmin wasn’t answering, so he turned around to find him. Sungmin was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. Eric seemed so surprised he didn’t get to hide it much in his expression.

“Coffee?” he asked. Eric shook his head.

“You’re not having breakfast?”

“Doesn’t feel like eating lately.”

“I’d suggest you do today, though. You’re going rampage on a bus.” Eric told him and laughed. He didn’t seem quite like his usual composed self. Sungmin could tell, because he could see Eric’s cheeks trembled with nervousness.

“I have a new theory. Maybe Earth’s foods are slowly starting to make me weak, you know? It’s like everything I ate became junk food.”

“Stupid theory.” Eric dismissed his thought, and Sungmin chuckled. That too, surprised Eric. Sungmin never smile, let alone chuckle whenever he was with him. He shook his head, ignoring the uncomfortable differences in Sungmin, and took a seat on the old couch in Sungmin’s living room after he handed Sungmin the envelope. There was a different odour inside Sungmin’s house, and it wasn’t the coffee.

“Seriously darling, you don’t smell that?” he asked again as he watched Sungmin tearing the envelope open. Looking up, Sungmin made a dumbfounded face and Eric figured that he didn’t need an answer from a clueless lad.

“How’s Hell?” Sungmin asked him after ten minutes of silence, examining the papers in his hands and remembering the faces – they looked like nice guys, but then again he had even beheaded a priest so faces don’t mean a thing. Eric chuckled. This time he was a bit calmer.

“Doing fine, thanks for asking.”

“No, I mean, how does it feel?” Sungmin explained his question, and Eric was again surprised with Sungmin’s curiosity. Jumping off the couch, he stood up and fixed his clothes before walking towards the window, looking down at the pavement filled with people who were rushing to their own affairs in the morning. Without facing Sungmin, he answered;

“Hot. Not too bright. Sometimes smelly. Why? You’ve never been so curious about my _home_ , darling,” pausing, and turned, “Oh dear the smell’s stinging my nose, Sungmin.” Eric’s nose crinkled; obviously offended by the smell he was talking about. Sungmin thought about something for a while, before snapping his fingers.

“Maybe it’s the new air freshener. I sprayed it inside my bedroom just now.” Sungmin explained. His hand pointed at the purple can on the coffee table in front of the television. Eric rolled his eyes.

“It’s lavender,” he stated. He looked too annoyed to even pick the can up to examine it. Sungmin nodded.

“Yes. I kinda like the smell.”

“You’re enjoying life, I see. More unnecessary questions, new tasteless favourites... have you forgotten about the end you seek?” Eric queried, voice turned serious. Sungmin smirked and at some point, Eric was glad to see that silent bitchiness drawn on Sungmin’s face.

“Not even once. Am I not allowed to enjoy anything on my way there?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I was just curious. Good for you if I miscalculated.” Eric was getting ready to reach the front door when he heard Sungmin mumbled something. He cursed his curiosity under his breath and drew a fake smile before turning back to Sungmin, asking him to repeat the question. Smiling, Sungmin did as he was asked and Eric felt really uncomfortable seeing the smaller man’s lips curled the opposite way it used to.

“What makes you think your way is the only way I’m looking for my end?”

Eric laughed, mocking.

“I don’t. I was just trying my luck with you, but over the years, you being so dependent on me made me think that maybe mine was the only one you’ve got.”

“If I told you that I’ve found another way, what would you do?” Sungmin asked, and Eric’s expression changed.

“Well, did you?”

“Maybe.”

“Change your air freshener.” Eric said after a couple minutes of silence, ignoring the question. Sungmin let out a small sigh.

“Stop telling me what to do with my house.”

“Change it.” Eric repeated as his hand was turning the doorknob open. Seriously, Sungmin thought it was very weird for Eric to use the door like normal human beings.

“Why?”

Eric shut his eyes, inhaled, and gritted his teeth.

“...that’s what Heaven smells like.”

He then disappeared.


End file.
